Scotland for the last time

Well, the title is a little dramatic. But the reality is that work was to take away my Edinburgh privilages away in March, so I went and got a new job. Seemed like the right thing to do really. Working at a boring job was so much easier when your manager was in another country and you got the privilage of visiting said country and stay at 4 star hotels, all invoiced to the British taxpayer. The thought of being London bound again was too much to bear.

And so, armed with my constant trusted companion Gerald, we visited Edinburgh for one last work trip for 'work', part of which was to visit Murrayfield to watch the Scottish play the French.

I have written about Edinburgh a number of times on this blog, perhaps without giving an accurate impression of the place. It is a small city built entirely of sandstone and slate, which are the nearest raw materials. Much of the old city remains, Edinburgh having been spared the bombs that fell on most of England's cities during World War 2. Pollution from coal fires and car exhaust over the years have combined to blacken the sandstone in particular, leaving some of the most recognisable of Edinburgh's monuments looking dark. Contrary to the picture this might paint, the effect is a spooky, gothic city, which is cold and usually overcast. It's a different world.

On sunday morning we wandered into an old graveyard which didn't look as though it had changed for about 100 years. The scenic background was the imposing Edinburgh castle, which rises high above the city. I don't think I've spoken too harshly about anything on this blog, but my regular trips to Edinburgh will be missed.

So. After treating ourselves to a long walk on Sunday morning, we trooped over to Murrayfield to watch the rugby. We had, all day, seen thousands of French fans walking through the city dressed to party, hopes were high for the atmosphere inside the ground itself. And indeed, the Flower of Scotland was sung loud and proud by just about everyone inside. But to be honest, the crowd was very, very subdued for the entire match. Except for the French parts, who were singing and playing trumpets. I wished we were sitting with them, the Scots around us didn't make a noise for the entire match. I cheered more for Scotland than they did.

The most entertaining part of the match though was midway through the second half. I had purchased a little radio which had direct feed from the referee's microphone. He spoke fluent French, meaning that many of his explanations for this or that penalty were lost. But one very amusing thing happened. Ref found himself caught next to a ruck, which suddenly moved sideways, knocking him violently to the ground. After a quick commando roll and one of the biggest cheers of the day from the crowd, ref was back up and ready for action. Next break in play he went to the touchline for a chat with the linesman. Transcript:

Fuck me mate, there's some big bastards there, couldn't get out of the fucking way...so fuck yeah

Those lucky enough to have spent £5 for the radio were then treated to the sound of the referee blowing his nose which, I and anyone else lucky enough to be listening at the time, could tell, he had wanted to do for a little while... All in all a brilliant weekend.